


Achilles' Death

by sadplant



Series: name one hero who was happy [3]
Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27517339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadplant/pseuds/sadplant
Summary: "In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun." Angst with a (tiny) fluff ending. Achilles-centric. Patrochilles.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Achilles/Patroclus of Opus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Series: name one hero who was happy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853695
Comments: 7
Kudos: 83





	Achilles' Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tangerina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerina/gifts).



> i began writing this because i love them (patrochilles) and because i love them (Tangerina). i'm very glad that other people could also enjoy reading this. your comments made all the difference, @EclipseRose, @Miss_TeaDDK, sad gay and @Firedrake2020. thank you so so much for your kindness. and thank you for giving me ideas! i appreciate it!
> 
> i began writing this third part a long time ago, but i could never get myself to finish it, both because I was very busy with university and work (and depressed due to the fucking coronavirus) and because i thought it wasn't as good as the other parts. but hey, it's 2020, the world is too much a mess and I won't let my half-assedness prevent me from sharing the stuff i create with people. i truly hope you like it, but even if you don't, i'm glad i took this chance.
> 
> another one for you, morgana, morganinha, tangerina, beloved, best friend, philtatos.  
> you're half of my soul, as the poets say.  
> happy birthday. <3
> 
> here it goes.

the nymphs wash that other part of me. the part I can no longer reach.

Patroclus wouldn’t like to see them touching my hands like that — but Patroclus is not here.

they put dead flowers all over my body and weep. they hum sea melodies to guide my soul to its right place. I hear their song inside me, but there’s no motion. no vibration inside my ears, no rush of blood to my heart. death is still. my hands, as numb as the rest of me, can no longer hold nothing. no more spears or swords. and, worse, no more lyre. they smear their oils on my dead skin and I feel nothing.

as far as my death was certain, it was never on my mind. there was no use thinking about it. death is but the moment when heroes become immortal. songs and tales, the stuff of the legends. we are movement personified and death is the end of all movement. a hero’s sword can’t be tainted with the imminence of death — no, we must dare. and to dare is to forget death.

they’ll say it was the arrow. the god’s blessing, the perfect angle towards the hero’s fate. no, death found me because I remembered it. they’ll say it was paris, his bow, his vengeance, his will, his well trained arms and hands and fingers. no, paris didn’t kill me — hector did. now I’m dead, my song is theirs to sing.

our story is theirs to tell.

the nymphs are slow. I want to urge them. _burn my body, end this mess. bring me close to him again_. but my voice is far away from them. a thick veil stands still between us — no wind could ever move it. the dead can see but cannot reach the living. was this how Patroclus felt, as I kept his dead body unburnt by my side? could he see me in my agony? did he long for me as I did for him? even in death, I notice, his fear remains with me, not even death could kill it.

as they finally tend to the fire, I get a good look at my face. it seems calm, the hint of a smile still there. the face of a man who thought himself free.

not yet — _but soon. wait for me._

mother watches it from afar. when I lived, she shone like the ocean in the earliest hour of the day, my skin but a mirror to her light. now my dead eyes can only capture a blurred image of her. blunt, colorless. after they burn me, she will never reach me again. a goddess, unable to walk below the earth. 

as the fire reaches the sky, I say my silent goodbyes. mother never looks my way.

before, I pictured myself like her. ichor flowing in my veins, thick and divine. time unfolding itself before me, its pace unyielding, constant, unceasing. but I’m nothing like my mother. my life and my few years mean nothing to her. her flesh is immortal and eternal — I’m ash.

I’m ash, I’m air, I’m thought. I’m tired. I’ve been away from him for so long. no body, no chest, no skin left, and yet it hurts. 

they collect what is left of my body. _take me to him._

they hold my ashes above what is left of his.

I remember his cheeks, his lips. his eyes when I said his name. I remember his arms, the soft curve of his shoulders, his beautiful neck, all of it gone, ash, dead. but not his soul. his soul waits for mine. I know it.

they pour my ashes on his and I feel nothing.

time staggers on.

* * *

the dark was not unknown to me. we always met in the dark, after the world was asleep, before it woke. but there was word and voice, there was noise.

this world feels soundless without him.

so I wander. 

I reach the ends of the underworld trying to find him. death brings me everything life did not — I am always tired, always restless, always alone. and Patroclus is nowhere to be found.

the dead are silent. I watch the other come close to me and move away, empty as I am.

the underworld is nothing to me. there is no light here.

* * *

sleep never finds my way — his brother does.

* * *

I’m waiting.

my existence is waiting. 

* * *

the years I lived are nothing. here, under, I’m old. like a god, I can’t change.

like a god, I can’t move.

maybe mother did something wrong to him.

maybe mother did something divine to him.

no blood, no ichor, just ash.

here, under, there’s nothing brown like his eyes.

* * *

_come back to me. come back to me. come back to me._

I pray into the rocks.

Patroclus never listens.

* * *

odysseus calls

he asks

would you rather be in the world of the living?

 _yes_.

do you regret your choice?

_I do._

would you rather be a nobody?

_I would rather be anything._

I don’t ask him about Patroclus.

he leaves. I fall again.

* * *

I never thought I’d miss my mother.

no ichor, no blood.

just ash.

* * *

the dead are silent, but some are not. others come to me, they ask me about my life.

_I don't know where he is._

they leave.

* * *

time.

I flow through its folds. time is useless here.

I forget numbers, the shape of the clouds, I forget the sound of living rivers.

I forget the taste of blood, I forget fighting.

memory flees. mnemosyne forsakes me.

I forget everything

everything but

* * *

the dead are silent

yet

I swear I hear his voice

* * *

_Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, Achilles_

a faint sound

my name

rolling on dead lips

but they never call me by my name

they just call me hero

I walk

* * *

_come to me. come to me. come to me, my love._

_half of my soul, half of my heart._

_find me. come to me. find me._

* * *

_Achilles_ , he says, _Achilles, Achilles_

when his fingers touch mine I become a sun

I kiss his cheeks, his temples, his hair, his eyes, his nose, his mouth.

I am not flesh but I am. I am. I am.

warm and close so close I am flesh again

 _Patroclus_ , I say. _finally._

I hold him. my love holds me back.

no tears left in me but I weep

he weeps with me

_half of my soul, half of my heart_

_you're here_

* * *

> _**"In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their** _ **_hands_ **
> 
> **_meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of_ **
> 
> **_the sun."_ **


End file.
